


Getting the Picture

by etamiss



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etamiss/pseuds/etamiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>M!Hawke and Fenris have some communication difficulties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting the Picture

"I think Fenris may have been kidnapped."

"May?" Isabela's cloak drips with rainwater and she makes a half-hearted attempt to toss it over a chair before taking the stairs two at a time. "Unless you've seriously broadened his horizons, Fenris doesn't seem like the type to be carried off by a group of men voluntarily."

"That would be the problem," Hawke admits. His palms are damp as he smoothes down his tunic. "I didn't actually see him get carried off by anyone."

"Then how-"

"He was gone when I woke up this morning," Hawke says, leading her through to the bedroom. "And I found this."

He nods towards the rumpled sheets. Isabela inches closer but promptly exhales in relief when she sees the parchment on the pillow. "A note?"

Hawke frowns. "To be honest, I was expecting a little more concern."

"And from the look on your face, I was expecting a little more blood. Maybe a finger or an eyeball or something. Notes, I can deal with." She strolls closer to get a better look. "What does it-"

Her brow creases and Hawke waits patiently as she tilts her head to the side in an effort to decipher the note.

"Is that a worm?"

"I was going with snake," Hawke says with a sigh.

Isabela tilts her head in the other direction. "Ah. Yes. I mean, there's an obvious third possibility but it looks a bit too aggressive to be genitalia." She flips the note over to check the back. "This is it? That's all they gave you?"

"That's it." Hawke runs a hand through his hair. "It's almost cruel."

"It's incredibly shoddy," Isabela tuts. "What's the use of going to all the trouble of kidnapping someone if you don't leave clear demands?"

"Truly a question for the ages." Hawke curls his hand around the bedpost and tries not to sound as worried as he feels when he says, "So you haven't heard about anything like this? No new criminal masterminds in town who steal people from their beds and leave riddles behind?"

"Not since we took out Olgar the Overwrought last month." She peers at the note again, lips pressing into a line. "We must be able to work this out. I'm a professional and you're…" She looks at him. "…not _wholly_ incompetent."

"I'm flattered."

"As you should be." Tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear, she holds the picture up to the light. "Okay, this one is definitely Fenris."

"The lyrium markings did sort of give it away."

"Who needs markings?" Isabela says. "I'd know those eyebrows anywhere. That doesn't explain who these people are though."

"Those are people?" Faced with Isabela's frown, Hawke elaborates, "I thought it was some kind of beast. A large one. With lots of arms."

"I don't know," she says, "I mean, what are the chances of encountering a giant snake and a many-armed beast at the same time?"

"Have you met my life?"

Isabela purses her lips. "Point taken."

Hawke acquiesces nonetheless. "All right," he says, "if they are people, are they allies of the angry snake monster or enemies? Because there appear to be swords raining down indiscriminately on all of them."

"Oh!" Isabela's eyes light up. "Maybe it's a fight to the death! The fugitive elf with the glowing tattoos battles the mutant snake monster and its acolytes in front of a crowd of cheering nobles armed with swords."

"You sound far too excited by this prospect."

Isabela shrugs. "I may be imagining loincloths." She lets the note fall back to the bed. "This is beyond even my expertise, Hawke. I'm used to dealing with hardened vagabonds, not inept kidnappers. Have you tried Aveline? Maybe she-"

She falls quiet at the sound of the front door swinging shut and Hawke's train of thought is cut off by a shout from downstairs.

"Hawke, I bought lunch," Fenris calls, his bare feet squeaking on the wooden floor. "I draw the line at you eating cheese for five meals in a row."

Hawke and Isabela stare at each other in disbelief.

The clatter of the kitchen door propels Hawke into action and he goes running down the stairs after Fenris as Isabela murmurs behind him, "Five meals?"

Fenris is already unpacking what smells like stew by the time Hawke makes it down. He's damp from the storm, raindrops and blood lingering on his armor, and Hawke finds himself resting his hands on Fenris' shoulders for reassurance as he says, "You're all right?"

The combination of blood and rain gives Fenris' hair a pleasantly pink tinge when he looks over his shoulder in confusion. "Were you expecting otherwise?"

"I, uh-" Hawke swallows. "There was a giant snake?"

Fenris whirls around. "Here?"

"No, I thought-"

"That you'd been kidnapped," Isabela chimes in, swanning into the kitchen with the note in hand. "He dragged me away from a very nice arl's very debauched younger brother to help rescue you."

"Rescue me?" Fenris' frown is deeper than usual. "I left you a note to explain where I was. Why would you think I needed rescuing?"

"Why would I not think that?" Hawke says, brandishing the note. "I woke up next to a picture of you being attacked by a giant snake and impaled from every direction."

Isabela blinks. "Well, that's a colourful way of phrasing it."

Blood trickles down Fenris' nose as he rolls his eyes. "Those are shackles, Hawke. I heard rumours of some slavers down by the docks -- I went to dispatch them before they could move out."

Isabela leans over Hawke's shoulder to look at the note. "Ah, I see it now."

Hawke frowns. "How are those shackles?"

"The mouth is the shackle part," Isabela says, opening and closing her hands to demonstrate. "The body is the chain and I'm assuming the people in the background are supposed to be slaves."

"There were eight of them," Fenris says, "and five slavers. It was no trouble."

"What about all the swords?"

Fenris clears his throat. "I… wasn't sure how best to illustrate an ambush."

"You weren't-"

Hawke sighs. Torn between wanting to strangle Fenris and wanting to kiss him, Hawke settles for pulling him into a mildly constrictive hug as the morning's worry ebbs away. "I was worried about you."

Fenris tenses against him, arms locked in place at his sides, and lets out a suspicious little hum. (As it turned out, shady Tevinter slave-owners weren't big on hugs.) "Why are you holding me?"

"Because I thought you'd been kidnapped," Hawke says patiently.

"But I hadn't."

"Please just humour me."

"Yes, please do," Isabela says behind them. "Some very thorough humouring is absolutely required."

Hawke's cheeks heat as Fenris wriggles out of the hug and fixes Isabela with a half-hearted scowl.

"You know," Hawke says, "all this panic and humouring could've been avoided if you'd just woken me up to tell me where you were going. I could've come with you -- legend has it I'm pretty handy in a fight."

"I would've asked if I needed your help," Fenris says, nailing the landing on the 'sincere' side of the fence rather than the 'patronising' one. "You were tired; I didn't want to disturb you."

"I appreciate the thought," Hawke says with a sigh. He reaches over to wipe a smear of blood off Fenris' cheek. "We're really going to have to work on your writing but I'm glad it went okay."

"As am I," Isabela says. "Not to say that I hoped you'd been kidnapped, but this does mean I ditched that arl's brother for no reason." She stares wistfully at a spot just above Hawke's shoulder. "He was so promising. Such good hands."

Hawke grins. "Would it make you feel better if we asked you to stay for lunch?"

"I don't think-"

"And if I introduced you to the very nice arl's even more debauched sister?"

Isabela beams. "Never let it be said that I don't appreciate your friendship, Hawke." She leans over to eye up the food on the table. "Now, what were you saying about lunch?"

Leaving Fenris and Isabela to divide up the stew, Hawke glances down at the note in his hand. Its meaning seems obvious in retrospect but as he remembers the blind panic that set in when he woke to an empty bed, Hawke takes great satisfaction in crumpling the troublesome picture into a ball and tossing it into the fireplace.

In the case of any future ambiguity, he decides that he will assume Fenris is out murdering people rather than out getting murdered.

 

 

+++

 

 

"I know this artist," Varric says, resting his boots on Hawke's table. "Dalish, really talented. Used to do all those tattoos her clan have. I'm pretty sure she could give Fenris some pointers if he asked nicely."

"When have you ever known Fenris to ask nicely?" Hawke points out. "Besides, it's not forever. His reading's coming along well - soon he'll be able to write notes to tell me where he's gone instead of drawing pictures."

"And yet in the meantime you have this." Varric gestures to the day's picture lying on the table between their mugs of ale. "What, is he out rescuing goblins from mineshafts?"

Hawke takes a long drink. "He's walking the dog."

 

 

+++

 

 

"Where's Fenris?"

Hawke pretends not to notice Anders sliding a(nother) copy of his manifesto onto his shelf. He nods towards the bed. "You tell me."

Returning to his letters, he waits expectantly for Anders' response to that morning's drawing.

"He's…" Hawke can almost hear the frown on Anders' face. "Is that a cow?"

"Probably."

Anders huffs out a breath. "After all he complains about mages-" He rounds on Hawke. "How can you be so relaxed about your companion magically inserting himself into livestock?"

Hawke doesn't look up as he turns the page of his letter. "We both have our hobbies."

Anders makes a noise of indignant disgust. Hawke finds that he enjoys it more than he probably should.

"Tell him I saw Tevinter ships approaching the harbour this morning," Anders says. His composure is lost as quickly as it was gathered when he adds, aghast, "Also tell him he should seek help for his sick perversions."

Hawke sips his tea. "Got it."

 

+++

 

 

"Anders says hello," Hawke says as soon as Fenris returns. "He thinks you should seek help for your sick perversions."

Fenris raises an eyebrow. "I had no idea buying milk was so unseemly."

Hawke shrugs. No matters what he says, Anders and Fenris are going to argue; he figures that the monotony of their fights about mages might be lessened by a spirited debate about making sexual advances towards livestock.

"It's a conundrum," he says with feigned ignorance. "You should probably ask him about it."

Fenris hums in quiet bewilderment, running his fingers through Hawke's hair as he passes, and Hawke tips his head back into the touch with a sigh. "Oh, he also mentioned some Tevinter ships," he adds helpfully. "But it was mostly the perversions thing."

 

 

+++

 

 

Blood is still drying on Fenris' cheek when he looks up at Hawke. The cut isn't deep, a wayward nick from a slaver's blade, but the trickle of blood is offset nicely by the smear of come beside his nose. "Are my drawings really that terrible?"

Still recovering from being dick deep in Fenris' throat, the best response Hawke can muster is a slurred grunt.

"I was trying to be helpful," Fenris says, more to himself that to Hawke. "I didn't expect this much confusion."

Blinking away the haze of his release, Hawke looks down to where Fenris is sprawled on his stomach on the bed, forearms resting on Hawke's bare thighs. "Don't tell me you're still mad about what happened with Anders."

Fenris' markings take on a decidedly grumpy glow. "How could he think that I would-" His elbow digs into Hawke's thigh as he points an accusing finger in his direction. "You could have corrected him."

Wincing, Hawke spreads his thighs wider to avoid the bony press of Fenris' elbow. It's tricky to offer comfort when his hands are bound to the headboard with a scarf -- he doubts Fenris would appreciate a sympathetic pat on the cheek with his dick -- and so he settles for spreading his fingers in surrender.

"I'd just like to point out that Anders drew his own conclusions," he says. "Admittedly, I didn't expect him to announce those conclusions quite so loudly and publicly but that's hardly my fault."

Fenris glowers at him but the markings soon fade from blue to white again. Blood trickles further down his cheek as he mutters, "I don't intend to cause distress. First with you and Isabela, then Varric, and now with the mage…"

"Hey," Hawke says as gently as he can manage, "we each have our gifts. You may not be a natural at drawing but I can guarantee that if I ever need anyone's vital organs forcefully extracted from their bodies, you are the very first person I would call."

Fenris' smile is weak and clearly for Hawke's benefit.

"I-" He flexes his fingers, smoothing the pads of them over the ridges of Hawke's pelvis. "I am not accustomed to this," he says eventually. "To being _accountable_ to people. Danarius knew where I was at all times -- I was his; he wouldn't have had it any other way -- and these past few years, my whereabouts were never anyone else's concern."

He swallows, not meeting Hawke's eyes. "But now that I wish to tell you where I'll be, I find myself lacking ways to do that."

"Come on," Hawke says, half-chiding, "you'll be writing notes before you know it. Besides, I can understand most of your drawings now, even if Anders can't."

"A shared madness," Fenris says dryly. "How comforting."

Hawke shrugs as much as his restraints allow. "I prefer the term 'bold artistic genius'."

Fenris laughs at that, the pink flush of embarrassment slowly receding from his cheeks as he rests his chin on Hawke's thigh. "I suppose I have seen worse artwork."

"Exactly," Hawke says. "Who knows, maybe Varric will be selling them off as masterpieces to wealthy Orlesians in a year or two? I've always wanted to be the kept boy of a famous artist."

Fenris laughs again. "You have some strange goals."

Mollified, he settles, planting a soft kiss on the inside of Hawke's thigh. Hawke sighs, watching as Fenris wipes absently at the cut on his cheek and sucks the blood off his finger without a second thought.

When he then swipes at the smear of come, wrinkles his nose, and rubs his thumb clean on Hawke's hip, Hawke reminds himself that this is the man he has chosen to love.

 

 

+++

 

 

The sun is starting to set by the time Aveline shows up at his door.

Hawke's fingers are greasy with animal fat from sneaking pieces of roast lamb from the kitchen while Orana's back was turned. He wipes them awkwardly on his trousers as Aveline follows him into the reception room. "So how's Donnic? Is he still persevering with those sideburns or…"

Aveline stares at him flatly.

Hawke inches a little further out of the reach of her sword. "I'm going to take that as a yes. So, honourable guard-captain who definitely wouldn't arrest a guy over a joke about facial hair, what can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for Fenris," Aveline says, resting her hands on her hips. "He was supposed to help train the new guardsmen this evening but he never showed up."

"You know, just once I'd like people to come to my house looking for _me_ ," Hawke mutters as he retrieves the day's note. "He's been gone all day," he says over his shoulder. "Usually I can work out what his drawings mean but I have to admit that I'm at a loss today. He always shows up eventually though."

Aveline frowns. "Let me see."

Hawke passes her the drawing. Expecting a squint, a head tilt, and a guess at what creature the note depicts -- today Hawke is going with either a wyvern or a large angry hamster -- he's taken aback when Aveline says, concerned, "I wouldn't have expected a trip to Sundermount to go on this long."

Hawke's mouth opens and closes and opens again.

"I-" He clears his throat. "Sundermount?"

"That is where he's gone, isn't it?" Aveline asks, gesturing to the picture. "Not to the Dalish camp, obviously, but higher up the mountain to get some air, help him clear his head."

"Sundermount. Yes." Now that Hawke thinks about it, the big blob does look a lot like a mountain and the pointy things on the side could definitely be elves instead of cacti. "Any, uh, insight into why he's getting some air? I mean, there's lots of air in Kirkwall."

Aveline's brow creases as she peers closer. "I would imagine it has something to do with his former master. An anniversary of some kind? Fenris seems keen to be alone for it."

It takes maybe three heartbeats for Hawke to yield.

"Okay, I give in," he says in frustration. "I have been looking at this picture all day -- how did you get all that so quickly?"

"I thought it was clear," Aveline says slowly. "Fenris drew himself atop the mountain, even away from the trees, which suggests he's seeking solitude. The image here shows his thoughts of his old master -- I can't think of who else would anger him enough to make him press on the paper so hard -- and the tally beneath must be counting back to a significant date."

Hawke scrubs a hand over his face. Of course the large angry hamster would be Danarius.

"Aveline, I love you," he says sincerely. "If Donnic were slightly less burly, I would fight him for your heart."

Aveline chuckles. "Somehow I doubt Fenris would approve."

"What would I not approve of?"

Hawke and Aveline both turn at the question and Hawke's shoulders sag in relief when he sees Fenris leaning heavily against the doorjamb. His skin looks too pale even in the warm glow of the fire but despite his obvious exhaustion, he doesn't seem to be wound any tighter than usual.

"Me running off with Aveline," Hawke says. "Or, at the very least, offering some sexual favours in gratitude."

Fenris' smile is tight and Hawke hurries over to help take his weight as he limps towards the chairs by the fire. "You can offer," Fenris says with a sharp glance at Aveline. "Although I may take issue if any of those favours are accepted."

"He's all yours, Fenris," Aveline promises. She nods to his swollen ankle. "I'm guessing this is why you weren't at the barracks this evening?"

Fenris nods, hissing through his teeth as Hawke rolls his leggings up past the knot of his ankle. "My apologies, I was too far out to find a messenger. It's only a sprain -- I should be able to assist in a day or two."

"Not to worry," Aveline says. "I'm sure I can put the recruits through their paces until then. Have a good evening."

"And you," Fenris says. "Give my regards to Donnic."

"Thanks, Aveline!" Hawke calls after her. As soon as the front door closes, he slides down off the arm of the chair to sit next to Fenris and winces at the darkening bruise on his ankle. "That looks bad."

"I'm aware."

"Do you want me to send for Anders?"

Fenris looks legitimately affronted. "No."

"Okay, no Anders," Hawke says, holding his hands up in submission. In a move perfected through an embarrassing amount of trial and error, he lowers his hands, easing one arm around Fenris' shoulders as he does so.

From the smile playing at the corner of Fenris' lips, the movement wasn't quite as subtle as he'd hoped but Fenris doesn't take his eyes off the flickering fire as Hawke asks, "Do you want to talk about what happened today? Or what today even is?"

"No." The answer is the same but Fenris' voice is softer as he leans his head against Hawke's arm.

The nosy part of Hawke, the part that can't pass a barrel without peeking inside, rails at the response but he tamps it down as he feels the bare skin on Fenris' arms begin to warm in the heat from the fire. "Do you want me to get you some supper?"

"No," Fenris says, slipping off his gloves to tuck a cold hand between Hawke's thigh and the side of the chair. "Thank you."

Hawke smiles. "Do you want me not to kiss you?"

Fenris' eyes stay on the flames but there's a matching smile on his lips when he answers firmly, "No."

Hawke can't tell which of them shivers first when he presses a kiss to the cold line of Fenris' jaw. Fenris' bare hands slide between Hawke's thighs, his whole body curling against Hawke's for warmth as Hawke kisses his way along his jawline before moving up to catch his lips.

The twists of lyrium on his chin are like ice and Hawke runs his thumb over them in tiny strokes before crooking it under Fenris' chin to tilt his head up into the kiss. As cold as his skin is, Fenris' tongue is hot as it catches Hawke's, and Hawke can't hide the rumble of enjoyment in his chest as he kisses harder and faster and rougher.

Fenris' palms rest flat on his legs as Hawke lifts himself over to straddle his lap, his thumbs sliding down to bracket the bulge in Hawke's trousers, and Hawke gives Fenris' hair a gentle tug as he licks over his kiss-heated lower lip.

Fenris whines beneath him, pushing up into his touch, and as the fire roars behind them, Hawke smiles into the kiss when he pulls Fenris' hair that little bit harder.

Admittedly, he may still have some way to go in picture interpretation but when it comes to interpreting Fenris' impatient sex noises, Aveline can't hold a candle to him.

(He hopes.)

  
****

+++

 

 

Three months later, Hawke wakes up to an empty bed and another note from Fenris.

This time there's no picture, no mysterious snake beasts, inappropriate cow insertions, or angry Tevinter hamsters, just two words scrawled in Fenris' shaky handwriting.

_slavers. kill._

When Fenris returns home an hour later covered in other people's blood, Hawke maintains that any rumours of him getting misty-eyed over the note are filthy, filthy lies.


End file.
